


(the thrills of) a night like this

by eldritch_beau



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, CR Noire, M/M, PI!Caleb, Thief!Essek, as usual Essek continues to be a royal dumbass but we love him!, but like. TWICE over, this is literally Caleb falling in love with Essek, your honor theyre in love and they're DUMB about it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23983735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritch_beau/pseuds/eldritch_beau
Summary: || Noir AU ||Essek hires Caleb the PI on behalf of his employer and Bright Queen, Leylas Kryn to investigate her stolen family heirloom— two mysterious beacons— a crime of which Essek, who moonlights as the thief calledThe Shadowhand,is the real culprit of.its all fun and games,Essek thinks,until he genuinely falls in love with Caleb;and then its a big mess.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 46
Kudos: 122





	(the thrills of) a night like this

**Author's Note:**

> this idea was born on a whim I saw some b/w + grainy aesthetics and said: BUT MAKE IT SHADOWGAST!
> 
> also, thanks to heidi for lettimg me brainstorm a WHOLE lot of ideas w her invaluable inputs... many of those that I intend to include as the story progresses!
> 
> anyway... i just want to give Essek a boyfriend who loves him + a moral crisis to boot, so.. here we gooo...

The Shadowhand stands in eerie silence on the roof. The new building is still under construction and he hadn’t encountered a single soul on his way up. Which is unsurprising. Beneath him, the city sleeps, or so it claims. The Shadowhand is vividly aware of it’s waking populace whose busy hours have just begun— from petty thieves to the posh mafia, organized crime runs rampant in this city and the Shadowhand, who hides his own face behind a mask perhaps a little too extravagant for the tastes of his profession, is no exception. 

Except perhaps he runs _faster_ than the rest of them, for he has surely stolen from the best of them ...and they are _yet_ to catch him.

It's a quiet night, though he is here to scout not steal. The dark obscures his presence and from his perch, he has a diagonally clear visual of the only window across the street that is still lit, its occupant bent over his desk, working well past midnight.

The Shadowhand stares for a minute, _considering._

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as the plan formulates fully in his head, pieces falling into place first slowly and then all at once. _Perfect._ He smirks to himself. 

The Shadowhand stares intently for a second longer before pulling his scarf up to cover the lower half of his face. He tightens his gloves, double-checks that the _beacons_ are still in his possession, and pulls his coat tighter around himself. 

And then, with footsteps so light that they barely make a sound… _he is gone._

—

The next time The Shadowhand is staring at the same window again he is _not_ the Shadowhand but a far less sought after man— unmasked and unspeaking as he stands directly under the window, thinking his plan through one last time.

He is not _the Shadowhand_ right now, that mask is carefully locked away in the most secure closet in his apartment, alongside his loot and attire from last night. Can’t walk around the city with the mask, the face that makes you the most wanted man dead or alive. And if they knew who he was _underneath_ that mask… He shakes his head. They’d be out for his blood this very second— they can’t ever find out. _Nobody can._

Least of all The Bright Queen. 

And he is here to precisely make sure that it never comes to pass.

Convincing her that this was the best course of action was easier than he had anticipated, however.

_[ “And you’re confident this will work?” she had asked him earlier that morning, narrowing her eyes._

_“Positive,” he had answered, “this detective has single-handedly solved five remarkable cases that eluded the police force and his relationship with the Assembly is strenuous at best and hostile at worst. Detective Widogast_ is _our safest bet.” The fact that_ the man had a breakdown after trying to expose the Assembly’s Volstrecker program and he hasn’t solved a case since _is not something The Bright Queen needs to know. “Plus, he has worked with the Gentleman and kept it quiet. I am confident he can do the same for us.”_

_“Discretion_ is _of the utmost importance.” Leylas Kryn’s previous fury has calmed to a simmering resolve, “The Assembly_ cannot _find out what I have lost.”_

_“If you permit it, I will oversee the investigation personally, my Queen.”_

_“This better work, Thelyss.” The Bright Queen nods, eyes cold as ice as she dismisses him, “Find me my beacons.”_

_“As you wish.” he had bowed and it was only after he was safely outside the gates of The Lucid Bastion that he allowed himself the smallest smile of victory._

_It’s not everyday that you steal the Bright Queen’s most prized possession at midnight and be put in charge of the same investigation come morning._

_Now he had just_ one more thing _to take care of. ]_

He takes his glasses off, languidly wiping the lens as he prepares what he is going to say to convince Widogast. He imagines it won’t be hard. The choice of living quarters surely imply that the _detective_ could use the money. 

Besides, he is exclusively here to pay Widogast to _fail_ and to fail _consistently._

He puts his glasses back on and ascends the stairs.

His knock on the door with the neat but faded lettering of ‘ _Caleb Widogast Private Investigator._ ’ is answered by a noticeably accented Zemnian voice, 

“ja, come in.” 

So he pushes the door open and steps inside. The room is ...shoddy with books stacked neatly in the numerous shelves and some even piled on the floor. The carpet is well-worn and the couch untidy and the man leaning against his desk, engrossed in the papers in his hand looks like he _definitely_ slept on that couch (if he slept at all). Presently, a cat occupies a corner of said couch, fast asleep. Old newspapers lie on the coffee table, under a forgotten mug of coffee that has also gone cold.

_Ah, what a mess. Perfect._

“Morning. Detective Widogast, I presume?” he smiles, shutting the door behind him with a soft click, “My name is Essek Thelyss. And I have a case for you.”

—

“No.”

Now _that_ takes Essek by surprise. “I don’t think you understand,” he says, going over it _again_ but slowly, as if explaining to a sullen child, “my employer is willing to pay any price you can name. And then double it.”

“Then you can tell your employer I am not interested.” Widogast shrugs, going back to his papers and it’s starting to annoy Essek a little bit. A good part of his plan hinges on getting a nearly useless investigator. _This_ useless investigator who won’t even hear him out.

“That’s not an answer my employer is willing to take.” Essek says mildly.

“It’s the only answer I am willing to give, unfortunately.” Widogast is nonplussed as he writes away in his notebook, his sleeves rolled to his elbows and—

_Nice arms,_ Essek thinks before he can help it, _and a pretty face too_ — the way the man’s brows are shaped, his jaw is lined, chin unshaven and red hair unruly and yet somehow ridiculously attractive just the way he is— makes Essek feel like he might be losing the upper hand he initially thought he had.

“If I may be so frank,” desperation starts to cloud Essek’s mind, “My employer holds much power in the intricate workings of… well let’s say Wildemount in general. Being in her good graces can do an investigator such as yourself much favours. Being on her _bad_ side, however….”

Even that does little to budge the detective who scoffs mirthfully— so far (and frustratingly enough) Caleb Widogast is _nothing_ like the man Essek expected to encounter in this dingy office that perhaps also serves as the detective’s apartment— and Essek finds himself all the more impressed than he should be. A man who won’t be influenced by neither money nor fear. A genuine challenge.

_When was the last time Essek had one of those?_

“You are not helping your case, Mr. Thelyss.” the detective continues scribbling away, “From how intent she is to keep her identity concealed, I assume she is perhaps someone elite, not my usual type of client. And if she is as rich as she is elite, I daresay she can stand to lose a couple of diamonds.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that.” Essek says under his breath, slipping up and that (finally!) seems to arrest the detective’s attention. Widogast’s lips curl ever so slightly and he stops writing. Essek grabs that chance.

“They’re not just _diamonds_ , Detective.” he slides his file towards Caleb Widogast whose eyes follow the movement intently. Essek lets the temptation rest there before he continues with renewed emphasis, “ _The Bright Queen_ considers her beacons a family heirloom and perhaps even believes that they have some _magical properties._ ” Essek tries not to roll his eyes at that, “She has every intention of keeping this situation discreet. She does _not_ want her predicament to attract the attention of the Cerberus Assembly.”

In a flash, Widogast looks up. Eyes so strikingly blue they pierce through Essek so sharp and keen that he almost gasps. It makes Essek feel _seen_ , makes him suddenly crave the comfort of the mask that he does not wear.

Caleb Widogast puts his pen down, steeples his fingers. “And why would the Assembly be interested in her diamonds?”

“The _beacons_ ” Essek smiles politely. He _almost_ has him, he can _feel_ it, “are _priceless_ relics of a time long past. They inspire nationalism and they hold strong cultural significance in Xhorhas history. They are even rumoured to contain the secrets to immortality. It's a myth of course, but was every myth not once a true story?” He shrugs, starting to pull the file back towards himself. Two slender fingers press down on the other end of it, stopping him. Widogast’s gaze is measured.

“Assuming I do extend my services to this case, what else can the Queen offer me?”

“Besides the frivolous amounts of money?”

Widogast smiles at him then, a curious curve of his mouth that is almost condescending, almost kind. “Of course.”

Essek recognizes a competent player when he sees one and he would chide himself for having previously assumed the worst of Widogast if he weren’t enjoying this entirely _too much._

“What would you like, detective?” Essek offers, carefully.

“For now, your employer can owe me a favour.” Widogast replies, like he had the answer ready to go, “When I solve the case, she can owe me ten.”

“You sound awfully confident.”

“Perhaps.” the detective gathers up his papers and stacks them neatly on the side, “I’ll take the cheque up front and… I would appreciate any leads you have...?”

Essek matches his smile with one of his own and pulls out the cheque from his breast pocket and slides it to the man,“I hope that’s adequate?”

“That’ll do, ja.” Widogast raises his eyebrows in appreciation before tucking the cheque into his own pocket. Essek’s gaze lingers on the numerous scars on the detective’s forearm and he looks away immediately. Staring at them feels… _intrusive._ Widogast continues however, as if he hadn’t noticed Essek’s sudden reaction or is simply choosing to ignore it. “Give me two days. I’ll see what I can find.”

_Two days._ Two days from now The Shadowhand is supposed to meet with Da’leth at the docks and hand over the beacons, pay off his final debt to the Assembly. And _Detective_ Widogast thinks he can uncover something significant in these two days alone? _What a proposition._

“You have it.” Essek smiles unflinchingly, rising to leave.

“And also, you uh…” It’s the first time in their conversation that he’s heard Caleb Widogast hesitate and Essek’s eyes snap back to the man instantly. Caleb’s cheeks seem to have reddened slightly and he has gone back to avoiding eye-contact and busying himself with his papers, “if I have need to reach you in any way? In case of… any emergency development or…”

“Of course.” Essek interrupts, putting the man out of his misery. He scrawls his telephone number on the corner of a notepad. He _could_ just hand a business card but… Essek defers to writing it by hand instead, for the _personal_ touch.

“Thank you, Mr. Thelyss.”

“Essek, please.” the drow corrects as he recaps his pen.

“Very well, then. _Essek._ ” A polite smile dances on the detective’s lips.

Essek takes his leave then, descending the stairs with something resembling unanticipated joy in his steps— perhaps dwelling a little too long on how _nice_ his name sounded on the detective’s lips, in his softly accented Zemnian.

And how _much_ he would like to hear it again.

—

“I think that went well, don’t you think?” With his client gone, Caleb turns to the cat on the couch, barely awake and blinking back at him hazily.

He pulls out the cheque from his pocket and appraises the number again. _So many zeroes._ “This will cover next year's rent, Frumpkin and then some!” he remarks before putting it away carefully as he starts flipping through the recently acquired file instead.

It is meticulously arranged and Caleb wonders for a moment if the drow who was just in his office is the one who put it together. He is a strange man, quirky in his own way and... quite handsome, actually. Practical, but with a quiet kind of sharpness about him that the man conceals only too well. Something quite charming about those brilliant eyes he hides behind circular glasses, something quite alluring about the smile that curves the corner of his dark lips, the white freckles that lie scattered over the blueish-gray skin of his high cheekbones, like stardust. His expression of surprise however when Caleb had initially turned the case down was one to truly treasure. So he isn’t used to taking no for an answer… and he didn’t walk out of here with one either.

If Caleb can solve this case and exchange these _favours_ for Cerberus Assembly secrets, if he can take them down once and for all with the Bright Queen’s resources… the temptation is strong and Caleb pulls the notepad with Essek’s number on it, refusing to think about the nervousness he had felt when asking for it. 

Frumpkin meows, as if he’d read the human’s mind.

“It was just a professional curiosity!” Caleb answers defensively and even then, he should not have felt quite…. _whatever that was_ when Essek smiled at him, when Essek wrote it down ever so readily. He stares at the scribbled number, admiring the other man’s penmanship for a second too long before tucking it away in his organized piles of chaos. 

He dials another number, one he knows by heart by now and she picks up on the third ring.

“What do you want, Caleb?” she sounds tired.

“Beauregard.” he greets, “can you sneak me into the Cobalt Soul again?”

“Again?? What’s the new case?”

“A heavy one. I need access to the restricted section.”

She sighs on the other end and then grumbles, “drop by at like five tonight. And tell me _everything._ ” before she disconnects the call.

Two days. Caleb has two days.

The faint noise of the crowd and traffic outside his window is getting louder, the morning getting longer and the perpetually cloudy sky bathes his office in a dull ivory light. 

Caleb Widogast sets the other cases aside, refills his mug with fresh coffee and directs his undivided attention towards all the new information that _Essek_ has left him.

—

He is so engrossed in his work that when the knock comes, it almost startles him.

“Ah Essek, you’re here!” Caleb says excitedly as the other man lets himself in, his face a mixture of curiosity and amusement alike. His gaze sweeps over Caleb from head to toe with a quizzical expression that Caleb disregards instantly, “you need to see this. The Bright Queen can rest knowing that maybe the Assembly isn’t involved this time. But I have found out _who_ is.”

Essek’s expression shifts immediately and his fine eyebrows crest high into his forehead. He walks over to where Caleb is standing. 

When he asks, “You _have?”_ his voice clouded with disbelief.

“Yes, I have,” Caleb always savours this moment, when the first piece of the puzzle slots the rest are bound to follow. And maybe, _maybe_ he just wants to impress Essek just a little bit, “With the details you left me, I have cross-referenced the theft with a few others over the years. Here’s what I have found—”

In what he hopes is not some fervent word-vomit, Caleb carefully lines out his theories regarding the theft, connecting past incidents with the present and moving across his bulletin board at an increasing excitement that could be considered hasty for the layman but Essek listens in rapt attention, follows Caleb’s red-yarn logic with no difficulty. 

His eyes light up and he asks diligent questions, ones that only help strengthen Caleb’s argument and when Caleb concludes, “so you see? The patterns are all there. The timing of theft, the sleek evasion of security, the quietness with how the theft was carried out and the silence thereafter— I have put feelers out and there is still no word on the street about it. This thief of ours always does his best work when he leaves no trace behind. That is one thing he is very consistent at. This was not the work of some wayward thief, Essek. This was _the Shadowhand._ ” …Essek goes very _still._

“The _Shadowhand?_ Are you sure, Detec—”

“Caleb, please” He corrects before going on, “And I am _sure_ of it. My friends in the force have consulted me on a couple of his cases and he is a _slippery one_ .” Caleb lets out a sigh of frustration, “but it _is_ him. I don’t doubt it.”

A flash of… something crosses Essek’s face, “You sound like quite the fan.”

“Oh, I hate him,” Caleb leans back against his desk, folding his arms, “he is a _menace._ Never been caught.”

Essek admires the bulletin board intently for a long moment, a quiet smile playing on his lips, “I have to say, this is _very_ diligent work, Caleb.”

The compliment is delivered with such a genuine air of awe that it fills Caleb with a fresh wave of self-satisfaction, one that warms his cheeks. “Thank you, but… retrieving the beacons will be quite the work.”

“I’m sure you’re up to the task,” the look in Essek’s eyes is appraising, “you say he’s never been caught…”

“Oh, I _will_ catch him.” Caleb finds himself promising eagerly even before he can think it through, “there’s a first for everything.”

Essek smiles more fully this time, impressed and approving and all the while that look of subtle astonishment never leaves his face,‘“I suppose that’s true.” 

He glances over at the bulletin board again, giving his head a tiny indulgent shake before turning back to face Caleb. His smile seems to waver and he narrows his eyes in slight concern, “Caleb, forgive me if this is intrusive but… when did you last eat?”

It is an unexpected question, one that easily borders on the personal and Caleb could deny the man an answer— but he replies anyway, “two hours ago? I was going to go out for lunch but I then had a breakthrough and…” he gestures towards the general direction of the progress he’s made.

Essek stares at him again, like his attempts at trying to figure _something_ out has been an exercise in futility. He checks his watch and when he turns to Caleb, his expression morphs into mild exasperation which reminds him of Beau, “Caleb, it’s 3AM in the morning. Have you not eaten since breakfast?”

Even breakfast was a mug of coffee and nothing else but he isn’t about to tell Essek that. On cue, as if to confirm, Caleb’s stomach growls loud enough for both of them to hear and Caleb rubs the back of his neck apologetically, “I seem to have lost track of time”

Essek laughs, a small sound that is light and benevolent, “well then,” he pushes himself off the side of the couch, “I think I saw a place still open on my way here. Let me buy you dinner?”

Caleb opens his mouth to make some excuse but the promise of food makes his stomach growl once more. He prefers to eat alone and has never dined with his clients before, _it would be so unprofessional_ — but then again, none of his clients have ever shown concern towards his terrible eating habits.

Essek doesn’t push for an answer, just tucks his hands into the pockets of his expensive coat and waits patiently for Caleb to make up his mind. Perhaps it is that simple gesture alone that eases Caleb into a decision. The detective smiles. 

“Let me get my coat.”

—

To say the place makes him uncomfortable would be an understatement. The sign out front is made of pink, backlit letters across the top that read “The Blooming Grove” and Essek, who has never been to a diner before, regards the place warily. The atmosphere is… homely, to say the least— fairly clean, even though the light at the far end seems to flicker every now and then while the jukebox placed there plays a soft, crackly harp music that Essek has never heard before. The scant customers still present are a quiet crowd, dispersed unevenly on the bar-stools in front of the L-shaped counter behind which a firbolg woman sits with her hand under her chin, silently solving a crossword puzzle.

His shoes almost squeak against the cracked linoleum floor as he awkwardly follows Caleb to a red-leather booth.

The seats are cozy and worn and the girl who comes to take their order has her hair dyed a combination of every colour there is and it highlights her youth ever so strikingly. She grins widely at Caleb and then at Essek, “Hello Caleb! Hello Caleb’s friend!” as she diligently hands them the menus, “what would you be having tonight?”

“Oh, hallo Belle” Caleb smiles, “I’ll take the club sandwich with crinkle fries on the side and…” he scans the menu attentively, “and the milkshake, please.”

The girl turns her attention to Essek expectantly and almost everything on the laminated menu looks so strange that he just orders the first thing that seems even vaguely less-greasy than the rest, “um.. Lemon meringue pie...” His eyes instinctively flit to Caleb’s for reassurance and even though the detective seems slightly amused at his confusion, he nods encouragingly with a smile. It makes Essek bolder so he goes ahead and follows Caleb’s lead— ordering the milkshake as well.

“Oh you will like it,” Caleb says, “they make the best milkshakes here. Have you ever had any?”

“No, I have not,” he has not been in a place like this before and Essek pulls his gaze away from the plastic salt shakers and paper napkins to look at Caleb, “and I probably wouldn’t have either if you hadn’t called at 2am and said it was ‘urgent.’”

Caleb purses his lips, “my apologies, did I wake you up? I didn’t realize it was so late… I got carried away.”

“I’m glad you did, though” Essek dismisses Caleb’s apology with a wayward wave of his hand. He takes his time, assessing the human carefully. Under the garish light of the diner, he looks pale. Tired. The dark circles under his eyes are more prominent than ever and the dusting of fine freckles on his nose and cheeks stand out even starker against his gaunt cheekbones. His hair falls loose over his creased forehead and then slowly over the rest of his face from every tiny shake of his head. His suspenders are slightly askew and his shirt is untucked in several places, sleeves folded and rolled up to his elbows. Essek briefly wonders if it is the same shirt from the last time he had visited Caleb almost two days ago.

It is almost impossible to believe that _this_ is the man who has, for the first time in history, connected _all_ of the Shadowhand’s thefts and has them lined chronologically on a string board in his shoddy office two blocks from this diner. Essek should be wary, he should be _angry_ that this detective is quite successfully on his tail, that in barely 48 hours of handing this man a case, he has made almost all the impossible connections that have so far eluded everybody else. Essek should be _worried_ — but instead he finds himself mystified, utterly smitten by the human’s intellectual prowess. Perhaps it's simply the lure of the challenge, because he should _not_ find the detective’s sharp intellect, juxtaposed against his everyday forgetfulness, as endearing as he does. 

_And yet._

“I have to admit, Caleb you are _not_ what I expected.” He allows himself to remark. The Caleb Widogast in front of him is a far cry from the disaster of a PI he was counting on hiring for this case. But Essek can’t bring himself to regret it.

Caleb scoffs, a harsh sound directed at himself and before Essek can inquire what that was about, their food arrives.

“It’s _true,_ ” he continues as Caleb turns his attention to his plate, “you got back to me with a strong viable lead in little over a day, I know for a fact the police force is nothing close to that efficient.”

With bony fingers, Caleb grabs his sandwich and bites into it. He ponders for a while before answering, “I’m afraid you might be easily impressed, Essek. I only found out the name of our prime suspect. Apprehending him would be far more difficult.”

_Easily impressed?_ Essek is anything _but_ that.

“Or perhaps you are just that impressive.”

Caleb grimaces, “I find that hard to believe.”

“I don’t.” And the certainty in his own voice almost startles Essek. _When did he start to have indubitable faith in Caleb Widogast?_ That man is supposed to arrest him and so far, his progress has been startling. Essek should not be encouraging this! He looks down at his own food to distract himself.

The lemon meringue pie is not what Essek would call appetizing to look at. The meringue looks entirely too rich and for a brief second, Essek fears he might die if he eats here. But Caleb is eating and it would be rude to shove the food aside so he takes his spoon and dives into it ever so reluctantly.

The meringue is actually fluffy and when Essek brings a spoonful to his mouth, it’s taste is perhaps the biggest surprise of them all. The lemon filling is smooth and creamy with just the right tinge of zesty that just _melts_ and he finds himself reaching for a second bite, and then a third and then a fourth.

When he looks up from his plate, Caleb is watching him with an expression of slight smugness, “I can already tell it’s your favourite.”

“Great deduction work, detective.” Essek isn’t sure if he means it sarcastically but Caleb’s grin only gets wider.

“It’s an Aunt Corrin special.” he informs Essek, “you should try her cheesecakes.” as if Essek is _ever_ coming back here. He takes another bite of his pie, chewing on the soft sweetness of the crust, considering.

(Actually, he _might._ )

“You know the people who work here?”

Caleb swallows a bite of his sandwich before replying, “it is family owned by the Clays. A friend of mine who works in the force is married to their son who works in the morgue.”

Essek nods, out of his depth and unsure of how to continue the conversation. He focuses on his food instead. The air that settles over them is suddenly awkward and Essek has never had social skills. Has never been good at… _small talk._

He raises his head to find Caleb with his chin on his knuckles. Staring. When their gazes meet, Caleb simply raises an eyebrow. “You’re not what I expected either, Essek.”

That pulls a laugh from Essek.

“What did you expect, then?”

“I don’t know…” Caleb shrugs, taking a thoughtful sip of his milkshake, “someone rigid, boring perhaps. Some kind of a yes-man for the Queen.”

That intrigues Essek immensely. “I could still be all of those things.”

Caleb’s lips are lined a stronger red from the cold of the milkshake and they draw Essek’s attention towards them. The detective’s answering smile is strangely confident. “You’re _not,_ though. Not rigid, I woke you up at 2am and you came to see me anyway. You’re not boring, you invited me to a diner you’ve never been to at 3am in the morning eating your first ever meringue pie. And you are definitely not a yes-man. You scoff at the Queen’s determination to recover the diamonds and yet you recruit me anyway. So what _do_ you believe, Essek? Where do _you_ stand in all of this?”

_Clever man,_ Essek thinks. It’s a question however that he can’t answer without outright lying; but he has always enjoyed toeing that fine line.

“I just do the work I’m given.” he says with a practiced smile, “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t good at what I do. Wouldn’t you say the same for yourself?”

Caleb hums, considering. “You make a fine point.” he says and Essek watches, stupefied as Caleb takes one of his ‘crinkle fries’ and dips them in…. his _milkshake._ Essek might not know much about food but he is _pretty sure_ that must be a culinary crime.

Caleb catches him watching, narrows his eyes just a smidge and slides his tray of fries across the table, “try it.” When Essek gives his head a small shake, Caleb laughs, pulling his hand back but leaving the fries.

It is perhaps that laugh that goads Essek into trying it anyway. He has never been one to back away from a challenge, _even when he knows it's not good for him._ (He wouldn’t be here otherwise.) Essek stares at Caleb, pulls a fry from the tray, dips it into the milkshake, and puts it into his mouth, all the while refusing to break eye-contact. 

Caleb’s face bows into an expectant smile and Essek _wants_ to dislike it, wants to say this is the culinary abomination he feels it should be… but _nothing_ about Caleb Widogast has adhered to his expectations, not his demeanor and not eating habits— nothing about the man across from him is remotely predictable and Essek finds that he wants to know _more_ about him. More than he could logically excuse as mere curiosity.

“So?”

Essek just shakes his head. Takes another fry and dips it in his milkshake. The knowing grin that Caleb gives him is almost blinding. And maybe his lips are also a little too...

_He should not be having these thoughts._ Essek pulls his gaze down to his milkshake, frowning. In his confusion he drinks it down with his thoughts and doesn’t look up until he is sure his face reveals none of the befuddlement he is currently feeling.

When he finally does raise his head, Caleb’s eyes are piercing into him, that sharp blue gaze that makes Essek feel raw and exposed and in this corner of the diner, at their private booth with Caleb is still staring it feels like a moment standing still, like he can _see_ Essek for all he is and, “You’ve got…” Caleb touches the corner of his own mouth, “you’ve got something here.”

“Oh.” Essek attempts to dab it away, “is it gone?”

“No it’s uh…” Without warning, Caleb reaches forward, his fingers resting on Essek’s own, pressing against the paper napkin and carefully brushing at the corner of Essek’s mouth. Essek tries to temper the gasp that escapes his lips at that touch but he has no doubt that observant as he is, Caleb _felt_ it.

Caleb’s hand lingers there for perhaps a second too long (Essek tries not to think about it) and he stares at Essek with a curious expression that confounds the drow all the same. He holds Caleb’s gaze for a long moment that is hazed in the distant sounds of the clinking cutlery and a cranky jukebox— but then a loud car passes them by— and the moment is broken. 

Caleb pulls away, blinking twice and focusing on his leftover fries instead.

It’s a little awkward from there on and Essek needs space _he needs to think._ This feels entirely like new territory and his heart is beating out of his chest, so loud that he suspects that even Caleb can hear it.

He dares a glance at the human who is preoccupied with his own meal, fiddling with his fries, his mind elsewhere, a faint flush in his cheeks that Essek could _swear_ was not there prior.

“I will put feelers out for him.” Caleb speaks, his voice a little raw around the edges and he has to clear his throat before continuing, “the Shadowhand. I will look into it. If there are any new items he is looking to steal or… even if he is in possession of the beacons or anything else he might be looking to sell. Once we catch him he’ll lead us to the beacons.”

“...Good. Yes.” Essek replies a little frazzled, “if you should need anything…”

Caleb overlaps with, “—I’ll let you know, ja.” at the same time as Essek continues, “—You know how to reach me.” 

There’s a prolonged sense of silence that follows where they both feel out of place and Caleb reaches for his wallet when Essek stops him.

“No no, please.” he lets his hand rest in the air between them, “Let _me._ I feel partially responsible for you missing both lunch _and_ dinner.”

“It’s a thing that happens often, Essek” Caleb smiles at the girl who leaves with their empty plates, “there’s a reason they know me so well, i’m an regular midnight customer here.”

“Even so…I insist.” Essek is already pulling out his wallet and when he notices Caleb's face is a mask of mild conflict, he adds, “...if that’s alright?”

Caleb opens his mouth to say something and then perhaps decides against it. He shrugs a shoulder and, “No, it’s.. It’s fine. I’ll grab the check …next time...?”

_Next time._ It’s an open-ended way Caleb leaves the sentence and Essek’s pulse jumps at the implication that hangs in the air between them.

“Of course.” Essek’s voice is not as smooth as he’d have liked it to be but surely it passes for nonchalance (he hopes).

There is no receipt and he forgot to check the prices on the menu before the girl took them away and Essek finds himself at a loss. He doesn’t know how much this food costs and _he has already told Caleb he’s paying._ Essek falters for a second, unsure— and then pulls out a five platinum bill and slides it under the salt-shaker. 

Caleb eyes the bill with equal parts amusement and equal parts shock.

“Too little?” Essek reaches for his wallet again, “should I—”

“No no, it’s…” Caleb gestures placatingly with his hand, “that’s a hell of a tip, Essek.”

“Well,” Essek says with an affected air, “it was a hell of a pie, so…”

“I can imagine, ja.” Caleb says in a tone that could be almost patronizing but somehow Essek finds himself smiling in response and it feels like easing away from whatever awkwardness had settled between them for a while there.

“I should uh, get going.” he rises from his seat.

“Ja, me too.” Caleb follows, putting on his coat, “Thank you for ...dinner? Breakfast? A bit of both?”

“And thank you for the company.” Essek nods. He is not used to dining with people but Caleb? Caleb is an easy exception to so many things already, what’s _another_ to that list?

Caleb is smart in ways Essek hadn’t prepared for, tempting in ways he hadn’t foreseen. And he presents such an unique challenge that it draws Essek in, hook line and sinker. 

_This is all a game,_ he promises himself, _I haven’t been challenged in so long I’m bored. That’s all this is._ He’s sure he believes it.

They part ways under the neon pink of the diner, the color bathing Caleb’s complexion in a soft rosy glow and Essek has to blink away whatever temptation’s starting to cloud his judgement again. 

He’s already two paces away when he turns back.

“Caleb?”

“Ja?”

“I cannot confirm… but.” Essek starts to speak, ignoring the voice in his head that’s screaming that _this is a bad idea this is a very bad idea,_ “there have been whispers. of something fishy going down at the docks soon. It could be… him.”

Caleb’s eyes light up, “are you sure about this?”

_Yes._ “No.”

Caleb nods determinedly, “I’ll look into it then. Goodnight, Essek.”

“Goodnight… Caleb.” Essek isn’t sure what prompted him to give the detective such a crucial clue but even as he walks away this time, it doesn’t feel wrong. _What will Caleb Widogast do with this information?_

He finds himself strangely excited to find out.

—

**Author's Note:**

> **haha hyperfixation brain done made [ art ](https://fiovske.tumblr.com/post/616658349583433728/shadowgast-noir-au-where-essek-hires-caleb-the-pi) for this too.


End file.
